


In the Eye of Caesar

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Caesar's Legion, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Game(s), Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Spanking, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 01:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15159731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Caesar dies after the Battle of Hoover Dam, Vulpes is left to manage with the newly promoted Legate Lanius in whatever way he can.





	In the Eye of Caesar

**Author's Note:**

> a very old request for some vulpes/lanius i never posted

The victory at Hoover Dam was regrettably short-lived. Red banners and bloodied corpses upon crosses adorning Caesar’s triumphant march into the city, where Lanius had presented the leaders of the NCR as well as their treacherous Courier as tributes of conquest. Caesar, retaining some fascination with the Courier, had spared his life. The act was not one of mercy.

General Oliver and the other NCR command were executed by way of the arena, Lanius claiming many by his sword and rising upon the admiration of his men.

By then, Vulpes had already known his hopes of Caesar naming another successor were doomed, that Lanius was now too loved, and he adjusted his course accordingly.

Barely a month after Vegas had become Caesar’s Rome. The Son of Mars had fallen victim to his continued headaches, and passed away in his sleep without any further indication or warning as to his worsening condition.

Vulpes couldn’t remember the funeral. He had drunk himself sick on the private stash of wine he knew Aurelius kept in his quarters at Gomorrah, and staggered through the following proceedings with whatever remaining composured he could grasp between his trembling fingers.

He did, however, remember Lanius’ coronation. Nearly sick to his stomach as he watched the Monster of the East -the _Butcher_ of the East, more like- renounce his name and be hailed as _Caesar_. Part of him thinks he would rather have fallen to the NCR. A more merciful end, for himself and for his subordinates.

The Mojave fell quickly beneath the Butcher’s blade. Towns turned into mass graves. Their ranks swelling with slaves and green recruits with too much fire in their eyes. Traitors from their conception, weakening morale.

All of it mattered not to the Butcher. To the false God and his worshippers. Mars would be ashamed of the impurity in their ranks, the dissolution that spread throughout the following months. Vulpes thanked his remaining fortunes for not being ordered to work too closely with the new recruits. The shame of their presence was almost too much to bear. The weakening of the Legion’s moral fiber too hideous an outcome to be directly faced.

His existence was a cruel joke. Perhaps the work of Caesar from beyond the grave, punishing him for allowing the Legion to fall so far.

With the remaining resistance wiped out months ago —at least so far as Lanius was concerned— his Frumentarius status ceased to hold meaning or purpose in the eyes of the new _Caesar_. To avoid execution or demotion, he was forced to challenge Lucius for Praetorian status; effectively raising himself to second-in-command in the eyes of the other Praetorians. Leaving no choice but to gain Lanius’ respect or to die at the hands of a deserving adversary in the process.

A foolish attempt.

Rather than respect, or even fury and indignation, Lanius’ response had been… other. Some kind of fixation, that gaze searing into him from somewhere beyond the dark eye holes of his mask during all moments that followed.

Though Lucius nearly dragged Vulpes into the grave with him with a final swing of the machete to his femur, something about the brutality of their fight had ignited the ex-Legate’s interest, Lucius choking on his own blood as Vulpes’ leg gushed red from between his shock-white fingers had brought Lanius to Vulpes’ side. Staring down at him with peculiar interest. A command was given for healing powder, and within a moment a slave was tending to Vulpes’ prone form.

Lanius saved his life. Seeds of obsession planted and nurtured without his intending it.

Vulpes expected it to be some form of power play. A way in which he would owe Lanius that would please the Butcher more than finally watching him meet a brutal end at the hands of someone more skilled than himself.

Whether it was a new form of hatred, or genuine interest, Vulpes maintained careful footing. Prodding and pushing Lanius’ limits to see where the line would be drawn. What sort of fire the Butcher was feeding when it came to the two of them. Perhaps part of him even hoped to be burned. A distraction from the pitiful state of the Legion was a relatively pleasant thing, regardless of where it was to be found.

He stood at the side of Lanius’ throne, watching as he gave his orders and conducted what little business he found important enough to avoid delegating. Always waiting for the day Lanius would collect on his favor, or at last take his revenge for himself.

Instead, during moments where their subordinates have taken their leave, Lanius began speaking with him, for as much as the man was prone to speaking- which was not a great deal. Still, he confided in him as Vulpes could recall Caesar once doing with Graham. The unexpected honor filled him with pride and dread in equal parts.

“I was only nineteen when I reached Centurion,” mused Lanius to him, in one such private moment. The torches crackled between them in the darkening tent, the sun beyond the walls fading to a subtle glow through the canvas. “Caesar had always promised I would rise to Legate, but at that time it felt as if I had climbed as high as I could.”

“I recall your promotion,” said Vulpes. “That was not too long after I had reached frumentarius. Sixteen, I believe.” He suppressed the smile that threatened his composure. “Not insignificant given how _I_ had to start from the bottom.”

The strange civility Lanius maintained left him oddly free to barb at the man. Pushing to see when he would crack, or if his authority had truly changed him that deeply.

Lanius’ voice darkened. The echo through his mask more like a distant growl of thunder. “Your superior was executed in your place. An unfortunate mark of shame over that old title.”

Vulpes merely shrugged. A matter of opinion, but not worth further quarrel.

“Your arrogance is not well-earned, Vulpes,” says Lanius.

“Is it not?” Vulpes knew it was too bold. He was pushing his foot over the invisible line had had only just uncovered, the thrill of discovery carrying him away. “Caesar believed me remarkable, my superiors have always favored me, including yourself…”

Lanius rose from his throne, immediately looming above Vulpes like a wall. A thrill rolled through him at the Butcher’s proximity, the heat radiating from the man not unlike the force of the midday sun boring into him.

“You all but prostrate yourself before me in an attempt to gain favor, but credit your imagined assets rather than your whorish nature for the results,” Lanius rumbled.

The top of his head barely came to Lanius’ shoulder, the man could crush him to death with his embrace alone. And that thought alone was enough to leave Vulpes’ breath hitching in his throat. A sudden desire he had not felt in months, perhaps years, swelling up inside him like a great wave.

“Is it my _whorish nature_ that pleases you, then?” Vulpes softened his voice to an effortless purr. Difficult to keep the tease from it. He was not quite so daring as to go that far.

As one might extend a hand toward a yao guai in foolish curiosity, so does he step towards Lanius, wrapped in the smell of oil and iron from the Butcher’s armor.

A massive, battle scarred hand seized the front of Vulpes’ tunica. So quickly that he does not manage to swallow a startled gasp.

“You are depraved,” Lanius growled from behind the mask. “A siren. Luring those around you with your sickening song.”

Vulpes laughed. Quiet and taunting. Unable to help himself any longer. “You desire me… As Caesar desired me. Do you simply wish to take what he never could-”

Lanius roughly tightened his grip on Vulpes’ tunica. He bit the inside of his lip raw in anticipation. Fear at last seeping in, mixing with his need.

With enough force to cast the breath from his lungs, he is flung forcefully aside. His footing lost, Vulpes collides with the fur-strewn throne. Soft pelts beneath his skin as he lands sprawled sideways with a soft _oomph_.

“Forgive me,” said Vulpes, eyes gazing up at Lanius’ stoic mask. Pieces of torchlight glint along the golden plating. “I speak out of turn.” He shifted in an attempt to rearrange himself, settling his legs over the arm of the chair.

“And yet, for once you are correct, Vulpes.” Something dangerously close to a note of humor laced the Butcher’s tone. “I have always desired to take what Caesar allowed himself to be denied…” Lanius moved forward, brushed a coarse fingertip against Vulpes’ cheek. “But you will not try to deny me, will you?”

Vulpes’ shuddered, his cock giving an insistent throb at his leader’s voice. The intensity of his command making his eyes flutter for a moment as his skin is set alight with the need for more contact. “Never, dominus.”

His hand drifted down the length of his torso, and Vulpes holds the stare of the mask’s eyeholes as he palms his already-painful arousal through the raised fabric of his tunica. He may not live to regret this risk, this indulgent play of his, but he still couldn’t find the capacity to care if he tried. If Lanius desired him, it would be better to allow himself to take that desire at his leisure. To set the rules of engagement before they could be set for him.

“Do not stop,” Lanius commanded. The hand caressing Vulpes’ cheek moved to the back of his head, gripping his nearly-too-short crop of hair.

Vulpes nodded eagerly. Dipped his hand beneath the hem of his tunic, hand closing around his bare cock. He parted his lips and moaned softly at the friction as the pad of his thumb worked over his head and slicked his strokes with precome.

The Butcher’s arousal was now apparent though his clothing as well. His breathing audible from behind the mask, heavy and challenging like the bull of the Legion banner. Caesar’s banner.

And, though Vulpes considered himself greater than such an act, if he was to make his bed with a beast, it would be the beast under whose flag he marched under. The beast who held his own tether and gave his existence some modicum of worth.

“I appreciate a whore who knows their place,” breathed Lanius. “Undress yourself, and then get on your knees.”

Vulpes did as he was commanded, unfastening his belt and throwing his tunic over his head. Leaving him in only his meticulously polished boots as he knelt before his leader. His lord. One cheek pressed against the man’s clothed arousal as that rough hand closed tightly around his throat.

Lanius worked his uniform out of the way with his other hand, freeing his formidable cock and placing it against Vulpes’ lips. Even with his oxygen supply waning, a sliver of fear struck through him at the size of it.

The Butcher roughly entered his mouth, offering him no time for further hesitation. Thrusting until he hit the back of Vulpes throat, making him gag. A long groan from the man rang in Vulpes’ ears, leaving him desperately trying to swallow down the entire length. To do a good job, to be worthy of what he was given.

Vulpes could still hardly get enough air to maintain his senses, even as the hand around his throat shifted to hold his head in place while he is skull-fucked by the behemoth of a man. He tried to focus on keeping his teeth out of the way and swirling his tongue in the manner he hoped the man would enjoy as much as the others he had performed oral sex on in the past.

He touched his straining cock to try and quell the ache, but Lanius kicked his hand roughly away and instead set his boot on the inside of Vulpes’ thigh, rubbing the base of his heel against Vulpes’ length in the most agonizing way. Sending delicious flashes of agonizing pleasure pulsing through every nerve in his body.

Then, all at once, it stopped. Vulpes sucked in a deep breath as Lanius’ member is slipped from his mouth, glistening with saliva in the torchlight.

“Up,” the order half grunted, half urging. The Butcher’s chest rose and fell rapidly, as though from exertion, a fact most pleasing to Vulpes. He had done well. Was doing well.

He moved to follow the order, only to be quickly shoved forward by Lanius so he lands bent over the throne with his knees on the wicker and fur seat and his head resting against the arm.

He was barely given time to adjust to the new angle before a harsh sting across the back of his thighs takes him by surprise. Had he not done well after all?

“Dominus-,” gasped Vulpes.

The Butcher hushed him roughly, and another slap broke over his protest. Followed by another. The force was nearly enough to rattle the chair, he could feel the frame vibrate beneath each impact. The sound snapping through the quiet surrounding them. He clenched his eyes shut and accepted each impact that followed.

The pain was almost too sweet. The ache of punishment familiar and lovely even though the specific reason for it had not been named. Surely there were enough possibilities. As his skin burned and no doubt raised furiously beneath the assault, he felt some modicum of peace.

Lanius stopped when Vulpes is gone all but gone numb to the pain, his entire body aching like a raw nerve ending. His arousal straining demandingly at the rough treatment, silently begging to be satisfied. He took small, measured breaths through his nose, listened to Lanius shift around beyond the edge of his vision before placing his hands on him again. Rough fingers stroked the scars of his back and the curve of his ass, almost affectionate.

Then the sudden strange, oily feeling of lubricant being applied to him leaves Vulpes shuddering. His attempts to maintain some sense of silent dignity slowly giving way beneath the cocktail of emotions swirling inside of him. Desperation and fear and arousal making his cock twitch eagerly, and makes him rock subtly against the chair, his cock constricted between worn leather and his abdomen.

The man’s fingers entered him not a moment later, stretching and scissoring inside him, leaving Vulpes unable to keep from crying out at the intrusion. Two thick digits pumped harshly in and out of him, unconcerned with the discomfort on Vulpes’ part even as he squirmed in a pitiful attempt to accommodate the Butcher’s intrusion.

It was nothing, he knew, compared to what was coming. But all the willpower he could possibly muster seemed too little to force himself to relax as he felt Lanius withdraw. Lining up his cock with Vulpes’ entrance.

Lanius’ nails dug viciously into his his as he thrust his hips forward, all at once filling Vulpes beyond anything he could have imagined. Grunted obscenities and less articulate pieces of latin echoing out from behind the mask.

His mouth fell open, perhaps to beg or to scream, but no sound escapes. It was too much, it was exactly what he needed…

Lanius began to thrust, relentless, driving impossibly deeper. It felt like being rended in two. He cried out, unable to help himself any longer. Whispers and desperate mewls spilled from his lips like the rising notes of a chorus. Every inch of his skin burned with humiliation at his own lack of control.

Vulpes licked his lips, the taste of the Butcher still lingering over his tongue as he rocked himself shamefully back onto Lanius’ cock and then hard against his own hand now pressed against his own leaking arousal. Caught in the excruciating bliss of being claimed by the man who he despised above any other. Fucked and used just as the whore he’d been said to be… The idea shouldn’t make him tighten his hand around his own dick to the point of pain, and yet he does, feeling himself getting close-

Without warning, he is spun around a hundred eighty degrees. Lanius seated himself in the throne, not pulling out as he dragged Vulpes down onto his lap. Hands on his hips.

He fell with his back against Lanius’ chest as the Butcher bounced him up and down on his lap, the new angle leaving white specks flickering over Vulpes’ vision.

A hand roved up and ungently pinched his nipple, and Vulpes quickened the intensity of his strokes, climax building, climbing as Lanius’ pace increases. The chair creaked beneath them, and Vulpes’ resolve creaked along with it. He shouldn’t finish first, does not deserve to, but he cannot stop himself.

“ _Yes_ ,” he sighed. Head lolling back against his leader’s neck as he hits his peak. With a final, wavering cry, Vulpes tumbled over the edge. Come spilling over his hand and splattering against his chest like a brand.

Lanius groaned deep inside his chest, brutally thrusting up into Vulpes once, twice more… Then buried himself as deep as he could, roaring as Vulpes felt his warm seed pumping into him, coating his insides. As the man went still inside of him.

His lord held him like that for a while, with Vulpes still rocking gently with his semi-hard dick rooted in him. Wanting more but too thoroughly ravished to do much more than squirm and make soft pleading sounds…

And then, abruptly, he is shoved to the floor as Lanius rises. The man’s mask stared indifferently down at him and Vulpes simply remained where he was. Lying at the foot of the throne. Unable to muster enough energy or self-respect to even move.

Without offering another word, Lanius turned and strode across the room, adjusting his clothes. The man opened a locker off in the corner, and Vulpes strained to try and see what it was he retrieved. But then he turned towards Vulpes once again, and knelt to his side.

Vulpes’ eyes widened as he beheld what it was Lanuis held stretched between his hands, but remained passive and still as the Butcher reached down and placed the thick leather collar around his neck. Cinching it tightly, so that as he swallowed nervously, he could feel the buckle dig into his Adam’s apple.

“You are mine, and mine alone now. Vulpes.” The name hissed with the same distaste as the word slave. "Your life's purpose from here on is servitude to me. Do you understand?"

Vulpes shivered on the ground, and as Lanius rose once more and stood to his full height above him, fully clothed while he wore only the collar, he had never felt more afraid, or more euphoric.

He nodded softly, cast his eyes down and away from those black eyes of the mask. “Yes, dominus.”


End file.
